


Divine

by Idrelle_Miocovani



Series: Arrow of Carnations [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love, Outdoor Sex, Romance, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idrelle_Miocovani/pseuds/Idrelle_Miocovani
Summary: Summer has come to Skyhold, though the conflict between the Inquisition and their enemy carries on. Solas and Josephine escape to the woods for an afternoon.





	Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt: "wine". And then it spiraled out of control. I wrote this a few weeks back when I was very sick and I didn't edit too closely, so there are probably typos.

Spring has melted into summer, and with it the snows have finally washed away. The forest is evergreen, dappled in sunlight. A nearby brook babbles. The sky above is a bright, cloudless blue. 

Josephine rides ahead, urging her white mare into a delightful canter. Her face is flushed and she laughs, brimming with joy. Her hair, unwoven from its braid, flows freely behind her. 

He chases her, but she is the expert equestrian. She leads him through the woods, following the brook, weaving her way through the trees. She is like a spirit, dressed in gold, threatening to vanish one moment, then appearing just up ahead the next. She is free and unbound, all her worries and responsibilities left behind at Skyhold. She said she would not let them ruin the afternoon, and she has followed through on her promise. If anyone can compartmentalize their thoughts, it is Josephine. 

They enter a glade and she slows, bringing her mare to a trot. The glade is wide and open to the sun. At the far end, a slender waterfall feeds into a deep pool. Its waters are bright and sparkling, reflecting the sunlight. Josephine dismounts, leading her mare to the pool to drink. She pats her neck, smiling and laughing as she looks back at him. 

"You lied," she says. "You're a better horseman than you led me to believe." 

"I never said I could not ride," Solas replies. His thighs ache. It has been some time since he has ridden that enthusiastically. Most of his recent travels have been on foot, not on horseback. "Merely that I have not in some time." 

"Good that we're stopping, then," Josephine says. "I wouldn't want to overwhelm you." 

"Oh, I am eager to be overwhelmed," Solas replies swiftly. "Just perhaps not on horseback." 

Josephine chortles with laughter. She tucks her hair behind her ears and reaches into the saddlebags, pulling out a blanket and a cloth bag. She walks around the edge of the pool and spreads the blanket over a soft patch of grass. Her long golden jacket flows about her, flaring at the waist. It is expertly tailored, hugging her curves. He would think her beautiful even in a homespun dress, but in Antivan couture she is _stunning._

She sits, flicking the tails of her coat out of the way, and opens the bag. She quickly displays their meal—cheeses and dried meats, delicate Orlesian bread, and a bunch of Antivan grapes. 

"I do hope you're coming," she calls. 

Solas laughs, dismounting at the pool. He says farewell to his horse and saunters to the blanket. He sits, legs tucked beneath him, watching as Josephine plucks a grape off the stem and pops it into her mouth. She closes her eyes, savouring the taste. 

"Mmm," she murmurs. "I am very thankful I was able to find these in Jader. While the Frostbacks are beautiful, they are completely devoid of my favourite fruits." 

Solas brushes her chin with his thumb. "The pains of an Antivan in southern Thedas." 

"You truly have no idea," Josephine says. 

They eat. The meat is savoury and the cheese delightful. The tastes melt in his mouth. It is hot here, beneath the sun. His skin prickles under the coarseness of his tunic. He is sweaty from the ride, and it sticks to him. He longs to peel it off. 

"You miss your homeland," Solas says, leaning back on his hands. His legs are falling asleep, so he stretches them out. 

"Every day," Josephine says. "I miss the warmth. The canals and the beaches. The festivals in the market. The smell of spices and perfumes, the trill of the troubadours. Antiva City is glorious in a way that cannot be captured in words, try though I may. Have you seen it?" 

"Only in waking dreams." It is often is reply. It is the truth—he _has_ seen Antiva City from the Fade. But he has also seen the land it was before it became Antiva City. "It is a beautiful place." 

"You should visit someday." 

"Perhaps." 

"Perhaps I can take you." She smiles, shooting him a coy look from beneath her long, dark lashes. She has such beautiful eyes. "I can show you all the wonders to behold." 

He imagines it, the scene playing before his eyes. Walking the cobblestoned streets, his hand in hers. A flower in her hair. Heady wine on his lips. A stolen, sloppy kiss in an alleyway. 

"I would enjoy that." 

She hums. "Still, while I miss it, I am not homesick. My family writes. My sister, Yvette… She sends the most enthusiastic letters. She is very curious about you." 

"And what have you told her?" 

"That you are a sensuous, lavish lover whose desire knows no bounds." 

He chokes, coughing. "You shared that with her?" 

She throws her head back, laughing. Smiling, she leans forwards, falling into him, head against his chest, her body shaking with mirth. "I said you are a selfless, admirable man. Talented and kind. More intelligent than any I have known. And, yes, I may have told her that you are quite…" 

He cocks an eyebrow. 

"… _attentive,"_ she finishes. 

She reaches for another grape, but he catches her hand and pushes it aside. He plucks a grape from the stem and lifts it to her lips. He slides it into her mouth, and she bites into it. His fingers linger on her lips as she chews. 

"You have a mischievous side." 

"I thought you would have noticed that all ready." 

She kisses his fingertips. He watches, enraptured, as she delicately presses her lips to his skin. The warmth of desire spreads though his belly. 

Solas withdraws his hands and he plucks a few grapes for himself. As he eats, Josephine retrieves a flask from the bag and two silver goblets. He raises an eyebrow as she fills them with wine. 

"Impractical, I know," she says. "But I hate drinking from a flask. It is very… unromantic?" She offers him a goblet. "For you, messere." 

"Thank you." He swirls the wine. It is a wonderful deep red, aromatic and enticing. Josephine sips from her own glass and utters a happy sigh. When she lowers her goblet, her lips are stained red. 

"Do you miss your homeland?" she asks. 

He takes a sip. "It has been many years since I have returned there." 

"Why not?" 

He lowers his goblet, looking away to the west. Though he cannot see it through the trees, he knows Skyhold lies there, looming. _Tarasyl'an Te'las._

"I cannot go back," he answers quietly. "My home… is not what it once was. It is gone. I would rather not speak of it." 

Her hand rests on his arm. She puts a hand to his cheek, turning his head so his eyes meet hers. "I'm sorry." 

"It is not your fault, _vhenan."_

"Should you ever wish to speak of it, I am here," she says. "But if you don't, I understand. I will not pry." 

"Thank you." He leans in and kisses her. She tastes of wine and cheese. 

Josephine breaks the kiss and takes a drink. "Solas," she says, "would you accompany me to Val Royeaux?" 

"Of course," he replies, leaning back. The sun is very warm on his face. He squints, gazing up at the cloudless sky. "I am very fond of the city. Their pastries are delicious." 

Josephine laughs. "I never took you for a pastry man." 

"Many underestimate me," he says, casting a quick spell, gathering an invisible barrier above them. He has no desire to leave this place sunburnt. "But put me in a pastry shop and I will show you otherwise." 

"A shame! If I had known, I would have brought pastries for us." Josephine takes another drink from her goblet. "Though I suppose they would have melted before we even reached this glade…" 

"I could have prevented that." 

She laughs. "There truly is a spell for everything, isn't there?" 

"Not quite _everything…"_ He drinks. His goblet is empty. The wine is heady. His magic thrums. He gazes at her, this gorgeous woman—her dark hair loose about her shoulders, her lips berry-red, her brown skin glowing lustrously. He wants to touch her, put his lips on her, feel her warmth. She is loveliness. She is radiance. She is— 

"I've an invitation to attend the opera," Josephine continues, sipping her wine. She refills his cup. "Lady Geneviève Pernell and her mother supply most of the Inquisition's fabrics and materials. She oversees the costuming in the Val Royeaux opera and a new play is opening in two months. She would have the Inquisition represented at the premiere. The entirety of Orlesian society will be—or at least, those to whom we should pay attention." 

"And the Inquisitor has decline to attend?" 

"Ashara won’t return from investigating the Western Approach by that time. Or so her letters tell me. Besides, I don't believe she is one for the theatre." 

Wine swirls on his tongue. "I would be happy to attend with you." 

"I have a single condition." 

"Oh?" 

Josephine's fingers snag the hem of his tunic. "I can dress you however I please." 

Solas smirks. "I think I can be amenable to that." 

Josephine rolls the fabric between her fingers. Her hand brushes his stomach, her skin cool to the touch. 

It is very hot in the sun. 

Solas sets down his goblet. Josephine raises an eyebrow and sips slowly from her cup, watching as he peels his tunic off. His pale, freckled skin glows in the sunlight. The wolf-jawbone rests against his chest. 

Josephine murmurs her appreciation. "That warm?" 

Solas leans back and picks up his drink. "Yes. I cannot understand how you have not suffocated in your riding habit. Though, of course, I appreciate how it looks on you." 

"Oh, really?" 

"It makes you very… erm… tantalizing." 

Josephine finishes her drink. "Do go on." 

His eyes look her up and down. He takes in the width of her thighs, the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts. An image of her naked swims in his mind. She lies there, beneath his gaze, popping a grape into that enthralling mouth of hers. He wants to— _needs_ to—kiss her, touch her. He holds the temptation back, letting it simmer. 

"Your beauty knows no bounds, Josephine," he says. 

"Mhm?" 

The wine makes it difficult for him to think. He lies on his side beside her, capturing her hand with his. His kisses her fingers. They taste of fruit. "Your loveliness is undefinable." 

"It seems you are making it your mission to define it," she says. 

He a chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat. He pushes himself up and straddles her. "Perhaps. Though I am not a wordsmith. I am easily lost for words. Sometimes actions show my intentions in a better light." 

She laughs, lying back on the blanket, her hair fanning about her. He strokes it and leans forward, kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose, her mouth. She presses her hands to his face, pulling him in. "What actions would those be?" she says, her words breathy and rushed. 

He pulls her up. "Stay here, and do not move. I will show you." 

She grins, eyes sparkling and full of desire. 

He starts with her jacket, longer fingers slowly pulling the buttons free. He pulls it open and slips her arms free. He tosses it across the blanket and into the grass. His eyes stay locked on hers as his hands move to her chest. Beneath the riding jacket she wears a leather vest and a soft, off-white tunic. He pulls the vest's laces apart and slips the vest off her, then hooks his fingers under the hem of her tunic and pulls it off over her head.

Beneath the tunic she wears a lace undergarment, tied in the back. Sunlight gleams off her brown skin. There are freckles on her shoulders and a mole by her navel. He runs his hands slowly over her shoulders, reaching down her back. His fingers snag the laces of her undergarment and he tugs once—and again—and again. The fabric falls free in his hands. 

The hint of a gasp murmurs in her throat. He places his hands on her shoulders and pushes her back into the blanket. He looks at her, taking her in. The swell of her hips, her rolling curves, her delightfully large breasts that are more than his hands can take… The sight of her drives him mad. He is half-hard already. He wants to touch her, but he won't let himself—not yet. He is deliberate in his slow pace. Their early lovemaking was urgent with need and desire. This is something new. Something different. 

He wants to be tantalizing slow. From the look of her flushed face, it is already driving her mad. 

"Solas," she murmurs. 

He puts a finger to her lips. "I am not yet done." 

He slides off her, fingers now at her waist. He undoes the buttons of her riding breeches, one by one. Once loose, she arches her back and he pulls them down, over her rear. It is not as smooth as he planned—the hot leather clings to her sweaty skin. He gets one leg free, then the other. He cups her cunt through her smallclothes and smirks when he feels how drenched they are. She is wet already. 

He pulls her smallclothes free and she is gloriously naked before his eyes. 

Goosebumps appear on her skin. She moans a little moan. 

_"Solas."_

He chuckles. He sits at her feet, taking her nakedness in. He lifts her leg and plants kisses along it, slow and determined. He reaches her knee and trails his fingertips across her inner thigh. Her fists clench around the blanket, pulling at the fabric. 

"Maker, you will be the end of me, I swear it," she breathes. 

"Relax, _vhenan,"_ he says. "The wait will make it worth it." 

"The wait is killing me." 

He kisses her inner thigh, teeth nicking her skin. His hand whispers over her other leg, his touch featherlight. She squirms at his touch. "You said I am on a mission to define your beauty," he murmurs against her skin. "This is how I choose to do so." 

His hands skim over her hips, brushing her soft belly. He pulls himself over her, trailing kisses across her stomach. He takes her breasts in hand, massaging, caressing. Her breath quickens and he presses his face to her cleavage. His tongue runs over the mole beneath her breast. His thumb runs over her nipple, rubbing it, feeling it harden under her touch. She inhales, gasping, her body trembling beneath him. He scrapes her nipple with his teeth, sucking on it, licking it, slowly, so slowly—and she moans, back arching, pulling at the blanket. 

He laughs, his mouth full with her breast. His hands grip her sides, pushing her into the ground. He sucks her nipple, teasing it with his tongue, flicking over it again and again, feeling it harden. She is mewling at his touch— 

He lets go. His breast shines with his saliva. He has left a mark, hot and red against her skin. He runs a thumb over it, and she trembles. 

"You… are… _terrible,"_ she murmurs. 

He doesn't reply, turning to her other breast, taking its erect nipple in her mouth. She squirms, shaking, her moans louder now than before. His hand snakes up to her collarbone, trails across her neck and rests against her lips. 

He releases her nipple with a soft sigh and kisses further up her body. He nips her collarbone, kisses the hollow of her neck. He draws back and her shining eyes meet his. His fingers are still on her lips. He slips one into her mouth. She sucks on it, her tongue whirling around the pad of his finger, just as she has done around the tip of his cock— 

His hardened cock pushes tight against his breeches. He ignores it. 

He runs his hands down her shoulders, his touch soft and light. He kisses her mouth, taking in her bottom lip, slowly sucking it, pulling it, releasing it. She gasps and arches her neck, seeking his lips. He presses his lips to hers, his tongue in her mouth, hot and eager. She tastes sweet, like fruit. A divine taste. He never wants to stop kissing her. 

A moan murmurs in the back of her throat. 

He pulls away and she keens, hands seeking his face to pull him back. He takes them and gently puts them at her sides. "No, Josephine," he says. "I am hardly done with you yet." 

He runs a hand over her stomach, so light it is barely a touch. She groans, eyes shut. "That is… that is…" 

"Is it as enjoyable as you make it sound?" 

"Andraste's ashes, _yes,"_ she moans. "Don't stop—don't stop—" 

His hand slips lower, resting below her navel. He slides down, hands on her thighs, pushing them apart. He kisses one inner thigh, then the other. He slips a finger up, slipping through her folds. She is dripping with her own slick, the slow build and anticipation turning her to mush. He strokes through her folds again, but does not touch her clit. 

"Your body is divine, Josephine," he murmurs, adding a second finger and continuing to stroke. 

She shakes. "Sweaty, perhaps," she says, laughing. "I'm not sure about _divine—"_

"I am trying to be a wordsmith," he interrupts. "You are more beautiful than any goddess. And I intend, if I may, to worship you." He pushes back her labia, exposing her clit. 

"I think you've been doing that from the start—" 

He runs a finger over her clit, and he thinks she comes right then and there. Her hips arch and she gasps, moaning, her voice loud and free. He circles her clit, rubbing, smooth and slow. He watches as her hips buck, her breasts bouncing as her whole body _moves_. He nearly loses his grasp on her and he withdraws his fingers, slippery with her slick. He seizes her hips, holding her in place and puts his head between her legs. 

She is hot and salty against his mouth. His tongue finds her cunt and he licks the opening slowly, tantalizingly. She quivers and shakes as he licks up to her clit, lips pursed about it. He inhales and all he can smell is her. His fingers dig into her hips and he sucks her clit, tongue circling back and forth. 

Her legs spasm. Her body shakes. She moans and cries and gasps. Her hands tear at the blanket and she nearly drags it off the ground. 

His right hand lets go of her hip. He pulls his mouth away and she keens, wordlessly pleading for more. He slips a finger into her cunt, pressing at her opening, delighting in how wet she is. He pushes further, curling his finger within her, and pumping it back and forth. He bends his head and runs his tongue over her swollen clit. 

He can sense her desperately hanging on. She wants it to last, but she is so close now. 

He presses his mouth to her clit and _sucks._

She comes, hips bucking, and he loses his grip. She whimpers, half laughing, half moaning from pleasure, eyes tightly shut. Solas withdraws onto his haunches. He cannot wait any longer. He undoes his laces and pulls out his cock. It jumps up against his stomach and he seizes himself, pumping. 

Josephine glances at him through dark lashes. 

He smirks at her. "…well?" 

"You are… you are _devious,"_ she says, choking with laughter. She sighs happily, the sun warming her naked body and flops over onto her side. Her breasts push together. 

He pumps faster. "Blame it… on the wine," he grunts. 

She sits up, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "I think you've been planning that for a long time." She observes him, fascinated with how he touches himself. She wets her lower lip. 

"…Perhaps." He pants. 

Josephine crawls forward, wrapping her hand around his. 

"Let me," she murmurs. 

He nods. 

His hand falls away and she runs her tongue along his shaft, root to tip. She takes him in her mouth and finds her work more than halfway done. Her hair billows about her as her head bobs, tongue swirling at the tip of his cock. He groans, one hand gripping her hair. 

He comes in her mouth and she takes it all. She swallows and pushes herself up, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kisses him. She tastes of salt and musk. Of him. And he knows he must taste of her. 

His hands run over her back and he gently lets them fall on the blanket, wrapped in each other's embrace. Josephine rests her head against his chest, a sleepy sigh on her lips. She closes her eyes. Solas runs his fingers through her hair, staring at the blue sky above, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

She cannot know the full extent of his gratefulness. She has brought him so much in a time of great strife. 

But she will know, some day. 

He owes her that much. 

His kisses her forehead and holds her. They remain there, naked in the woods on this bright summer's day, until the sky turns gold and the sun begins to set. Only then does Josephine propose that they finally return to Skyhold. 


End file.
